World Turning
by wisehimmel
Summary: An attack on Privet Drive leaves the Potters reeling. But how can you expect things to go right when you're Harry Potter's sister?
1. The Attack

The lifeless body on the floor leaked blood that stained the old wooden floor. I killed him. I killed the man who was trying to kill me.

Petunia wailed the next room over.

Just outside a fire raged.

Peaceful Privet Drive was no more.

I grabbed Harry by the arm—we had to go. He just looked at me in stunned disbelief. He gaped at me, frozen in time like a fly stuck in molasses.

"We have to leave, Harry!"

"You killed him!"

I looked down on the floor. The blood had spread now, reaching my bare feet. I wiggled my toes. That just brought a sense of unreality to it all. There was a man—a Death Eater , I reminded myself—that I had killed. Dead. Nothing, no magic, no Muggle invention could bring back the person on the floor. Someone would mourn him, perhaps a wife or son or daughter or lover, because of the curse I had cast. One simple Severing Charm was all it took.

I'll never forget how his grey eyes had widened ever-so-slightly in shock just before he had fallen off of me.

Lights of all colors flashed outside. There were the reds and blues of Muggle sirens, of course, come to battle a blaze they had no hope against. Fiendfyre, I knew, from the pungent smell and the impossible shapes the flame took. Soon enough the blood protections on the house would fall and we too would be engulfed in a horrible, fiery death.

But it was not just the sirens which lit up the night sky. Curses flew in every direction as the Order did battle with Tom Riddle's forces. Fledgling as they were, they had no hope of winning. Tom Riddle had the support of the Ministry now, after all. The Order was seen as little more than a terrorist organization. No one wanted to look past the charm of Macarius Gaunt to see the monster that reigned behind the pretty face. And no one wanted to think the young Minister with the winsome smile was actually Lord Voldemort.

I blinked. "We have to go," I said in a voice very much unlike my own. It was weak, quavering, and I hated it.

"Alright," said Harry, grabbing my free hand.

It was better not to think of what had almost happened. It was better to get away, not to think about the gleeful look in the Death Eater's eyes as he had reached for the hem of my nightie. It was better not to think of how he had tried to use me before he killed me.

It was better to forget.

"Hazel!" Harry said, shaking my arm as I took a gasping breath, looking at the man staring unseeingly towards the ceiling.

"Right."

Still hand in hand, we ran from the room, slamming the door behind us. Harry clutched the photo album Hagrid had given us in his free hand. His wand was at Hogwarts, with every other underaged witch and wizard's. A new Ministry rule.

My stomach rolled as I thought of how close I had come to dying, how close I had come to failing Harry, to leaving him asleep and defenseless. Then my mind turned back to the dead man on my bedroom floor and I gagged, vomiting on my blood-stained feet.

"Hazel!" Harry said again, dragging me forward.

"Get through the fireplace to Dumbledore's office—the Order needs my help."

"I'm not leaving you! And what about the Dursleys?"

Footsteps sounded behind us—in an instant, I turned and pressed my wand to the throat of the intruder. My eyes widened; I felt crazed. Another Death Eater. The white mask glowed eerily in the dim light of the hallway.

"Diffin—" I started.

"Potter," a familiar, nasally voice said from behind the mask.

"Professor Snape!" I cried, throwing my arms around him, my eyes filling with tears. I had no love for the man—he was nothing short of horrible to Harry and pretended I didn't exist—but I trusted that he was Dumbledore's man. We were saved. No more Death Eaters would try to do unspeakable things to us tonight.

He shoved me away, sending me falling to the floor. He ripped the white mask from his face and opened the door we had just shut—perhaps he was checking to make sure there was no one to witness his treachery in saving us. His pale face whitened further as he looked from the body to me, to the blood on my feet. I wrung my hands in my nightie as I peered back into the bedroom, looking at the blood, blood, blood, so much blood.

"It's time for you to go, Potter," he said.

"But—" Harry and I both began.

"You are the primary targets. Leave this place, and so will we."

"I need to stay and fight," I said weakly.

"You are in no condition to."

"What about the Dursleys?" Harry challenged.

"We already apparated them away. Enough of these foolish questions. We must leave, now."

But I couldn't tear my eyes from the dead man.

"Who was he?" I asked in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter. He's dead and he deserves to be." Snape seized me by the wrist and pulled me towards the stairs, dragging Harry along as well. I stumbled into him, my eyes still on the body. "Potter," he snapped.

Right. If I didn't move, Harry would die. There would be time to think later. I trained my eyes on the pink wallpaper. Pink was safe. Pink was not the color of blood, nor of Death Eater robes, nor of the Dark Mark which now hovered above Privet Drive.

We met Remus at the bottom of the stairs, beside the cupboard Harry and I had so often been locked in. "Is Dumbledore coming?" Snape demanded.

"No," Remus said. "He said now is not the time for him to fight."

"Of bloody course," Snape snarled, in a voice very unlike his usual measured tone, still dragging me along, towards the back garden. "You take the boy," he said, shoving Harry.

When we stepped outside, the cool air Number Four turned to a heat unlike anything I had ever felt. I didn't want to think about all the Muggles who were now nothing more than ash, who had died screaming in a fiery blaze that was our fault. My fault. Just like the man upstairs…

I was keenly aware of the blood now caked to my feet. I took another gasping breath.

"Potter! Hold on to my arm."

A pull behind my navel, a spinning world, and then nothing.


	2. What Makes A Murderer?

The war had begun in earnest now. I had killed a man. Harry would never look at me the same way. Everything, everything was going wrong.

Who was the man I had killed? Not a good one. A rapist. A murderer. Snape said he had deserved to die. What did that even mean? Who was I to decide who lived and who died? Maybe it was better to endure most things than become a killer, I no longer knew. But I no longer had a choice. I had killed. I was a killer. My soul wept.

I didn't know who to turn to. Remus hadn't killed, nor had Sirius. They certainly condoned my act, were glad I had saved myself and Harry, but they couldn't understand. I didn't know who would. Not even Dumbledore had killed before; Grindelwald had been imprisoned. Moody perhaps would—Sirius had said he had never killed if he could help it, meaning he had—but the man was not one to give a teenage girl comfort. He would probably think I was being silly. It was him or me, I was vigilant, I won, and that was that.

Sirius wanted me to join the Order, when I was of age, but maybe I wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Maybe they were better off without me. But I couldn't tell them that. They would think I was weak, and I could not afford to be. Harry was counting on me. If joining the Order would help him, then I would have to.

I drew my wand and pointed it at the screeching portrait of Mrs. Black. No one could find a way to take her down, so she just kept on. Mudbloods, half-breeds, shame of my flesh, whatever insult sprang to mind sprang from her foul mouth. If I didn't shut her up, she would wake the entire house, and my moment of peace would be over. I wondered if anyone had tried transfiguring her…

"Mustelidae," I said, swishing my wand at her portrait. A badger appeared in the place of the three-chinned woman. It grunted and screamed, but on a whole, was much more pleasant to listen to. I smiled for the first time in days, for the first time since I had killed. Not even Padfoot's antics had been able to get me to smile.

I was glad Hogwarts started back tomorrow. It would get my mind off things and would be a haven from all this "Magic Is Might" nonsense the Ministry was running. It was the one place I knew I was safe from Lord Voldemort in his various names. Even as Macarius Gaunt he could not extend his reach to Hogwarts while Dumbledore was in power, because Dumbledore had the power of knowing him for what he was: a monster bent on domination and destruction.

I walked down to the basement where the kitchen was for a late-night cup of chamomile tea, hoping it would help me sleep. I was not the only one, it seemed, for Severus Snape sat in his Death Eater robes, sipping on a cup of steaming tea. His calm demeanor was only betrayed by the slight shaking of his hand. The Cruciatus Curse, I knew. Remus had managed to teach us that much in his short tenure as professor. I wondered who the fresh sacrifice would be this year. The position had to be cursed as it was rumored to be.

"Are you alright, Professor?"

To my surprise, Snape jumped, twitching in the shock.

"There's no need to be such a Hufflepuff," he snarled. "I am perfectly fine."

But he wasn't and we both knew it.

I set to work fixing my tea, boiling the water the Muggle way. There was no need to draw attention to this place by performing underaged magic. Look at what happened the last time I did…the Severing Charm…it was all coming back to me. I wiped furiously at my eyes, determined not to show weakness in front of Snape. It would be like bleeding in front of a shark.

But I was helpless to the thoughts once they struck.

"Who was he?" I asked in a small voice, dropping a tea bag into my cup and pouring boiling water over it.

"No one important."

"Please tell me."

Snape hesitated. "Rabastan Lestrange."

My breath caught. "Orion's father?" Orion was a boy my age, the son of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was a close advisor of the Minister. He was a horrid boy and in Hufflepuff with me. The professors all loved him, because in class he was all patience and hard-work, but in the common room, he was a hateful bigot who was undyingly loyal to his mother's twisted moral code. There were rumors that Voldemort was his father rather than his mother's husband.

"No. His uncle."

I relaxed. If I killed Orion's father, then there would be hell to pay. He already tried to bully me simply for being Harry's sister. He wouldn't leave me alone. I could only imagine what he would be like now that I had killed his uncle, but if I had killed his father, his wrath would only be a hundred times worse.

"What was he like?"

"Vicious. Cruel. Obedient to the Dark Lord. The model Death Eater, if you asked anyone who knew him. If you need assurance you killed a bad man, Potter, believe me that you did. He was no Draco Malfoy, no green recruit. He was a savage man who deserved a savage end."

"He tried to rape me," I said, my voice no more than a whisper. I hadn't told anyone. Everyone was already on edge around me. Molly tripped over herself trying to help me. Fred and George constantly pranked whoever was around me. Sirius and Remus pulled me into bone-crushing hugs. And Harry, he just looked at me contemplatively when he thought I wasn't paying attention.

Snape turned to face me. "As he had many women before you."

"I didn't want to kill him."

Snape said nothing.

"I don't regret that it was me who lived and not him, but you know, I wish I hadn't had to kill him. I think, 'why didn't I just stun him?' I just can't stop thinking, 'I'm a killer now.'"

"You are an innocent, Potter. You are no killer. A killer is someone who takes life without remorse, not someone who has had to defend themselves." His voice was bitter. I wondered if Snape had ever killed anyone, but then I knew. Of course he had. The Death Eaters did all sorts of terrible things. I wouldn't be surprised if murder was a prerequisite for taking the mark.

He hesitated for a moment, then looked me in the eye. He never did that, and I always wondered why. It was just another mystery of the man. Maybe because they were just like my dad's, the man he had hated. But in that moment, he didn't hesitate and black met hazel. It felt like he was Dumbledore, piercing my very soul with a look.

"How long does it take for things to go back to normal?"

Silence.

"They never do."


End file.
